


Recollection; Isolation

by Moro



Category: Mother 3
Genre: Comfort, Crying, Depressing, Depression, Dogs, Gen, Guilt, Mental Anguish, Misery, Neglect, Pet caretaker, Psychological, Sad, Self-Hatred, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 07:51:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/746083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moro/pseuds/Moro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loss is never easy, but Lucas is...really not coping well.<br/></p><p>SPOILERS for Mother 3 up to Chapter 4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recollection; Isolation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zarla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zarla/gifts).



           Lucas felt a sting in the pit of his stomach, another warning his body tried to give that he ignored.  How long had it been since he’d eaten anything?  Two days, maybe three?  He coughed dryly and winced; his throat felt raw, and no matter how much water he drank, it didn’t seem to make a difference.  Lucas lifted the cup to take another sip (taking large gulps made him feel sick) but his hands shook, clumsy, and he splashed most of its contents onto his shirt. 

           He couldn’t muster the energy to give more than a sigh.  At least the water would wash some of the dirt off.  He let the cup drop from his hand and hugged his knees, staring listlessly into the distance.  It was quiet enough that all he could hear was the sound of his own shallow breathing.

           Lucas had always been a slender boy, but the persistent lack of food was starting to show.  He continued eating more or less normally, at first, but each day his desire for it diminished.  He felt worse and worse the less he ate, but couldn’t seem to force himself back to it.

 _I’ll die if I don’t eat._ He shivered.  _But I don’t want to die._

_I don’t want to die._

_I should have._

           His shirt hung loosely from shoulders that seemed to jut dramatically from his thin back, and his under the shirt his ribs were clearly visible.  His hair was dusty and unkempt from neglect; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d washed it or changed his clothes.  The fugue he existed in had made him lose track of time and he slept very little, or for a great many hours at a time…there were dark shadows beneath his eyes and he sometimes wavered in and out of consciousness, falling asleep to find that ten minutes or ten hours had passed, which only served to further disorient him.  He didn’t even attempt to drag himself out of it.  What was the point?

_The only one who will see me is Boney, anyway._

           He leaned against Boney’s doghouse for support; every time he tried to stand, he felt dizzy and just wanted to sit down again.  His stomach twinged and he flinched for a moment, but he was mostly used to it.  It throbbed as a constant dull ache that occasionally flared up in little stabs of pain, all of which he ignored.  Besides, the thought of food made him feel sick.

_I’d probably just throw it up if I did eat something._

           Boney was sleeping in his doghouse…Lucas noticed with a pang of guilt that it was badly in need of cleaning, but the dog didn’t seem too bothered by it.

           Lucas gazed up at the sky.  He hadn’t noticed it was night and guessed it had been awhile since he slept, given how exhausted he felt.  He didn’t notice Boney stirring next to him until the dog had shifted out of the doghouse and flopped down next to him with a soft whine.  “(Why won’t you eat?)” 

           “Oh, Boney…it’s okay,” Lucas murmured, his voice wavering and strained.  The dog whimpered and nudged at Lucas’ hand, peering up at him.  “Are you hungry?”

           Somehow the thought that Boney might go hungry was significantly worse than the pain in his stomach, or his dizziness.  He struggled to get to his feet, bracing himself on the doghouse.  He immediately felt nauseous but forced himself up, walking unsteadily to the door.  Boney followed him.

           The house was empty, of course. 

           Lucas retrieved the dog food from the cabinet—Mom had always reminded him to put the lid back on when he was done—and realized he hadn’t grabbed Boney’s food bowl.  He didn’t have the energy to go back outside, so he just grabbed one of the bowls sitting on the table and poured the kibbles into that instead.  Boney wasn’t even really supposed to be in the house, but what difference did it make?

 _I wonder if that was Dad’s._ Lucas couldn’t remember.  Did Flint even come back to the house to eat or sleep?  If he did, Lucas never saw or heard him.  It seemed more likely that Flint would sleep and eat out in the mountains, wherever he was. 

           Sometimes Lucas thought of leaving the house; taking a walk near the beach, or going up to the hot spring or the Sanctuary in the forest, but…

_I hate the way everyone looks at me.  I know what they really think._

_Crybaby, weak, pathetic, useless._

           Boney halfheartedly ate a few mouthfuls of his food and then moved back toward Lucas and let the boy lean against him.  Lucas felt immeasurably tired.  _I should just go to sleep.  There’s no point in being awake._

           He stripped off his dirty clothes and threw them on the floor— _Mom would be annoyed—_ and tugged on his pajamas from where they lay in a pile in front of the nightstand.  Boney just whined and lay down morosely at the foot of the bed.

           Lucas climbed onto the bed and burrowed under the covers, shifting, almost unconsciously, to the other side of the bed.  He made no attempt to stop the tears from springing to his eyes; the sheets had been changed since…everything…happened ( _of course they have, it’s been almost three years why aren’t you over it yet_ ) but still he felt somewhere inside that he could smell Claus’ scent in the fabric.

           He buried his face in the pillow, shaking with each racking sob that pained his chest and made him feel as if he were swallowing hot ashes.  Tears streaked down his face, soaking the fabric.

_Claus…_

           Eventually, mercifully, he slipped away into sleep. 

~ * ~ * ~

           Boney scampered down the path that led down to the small plaza at the center of Tazmily.  No one was wandering around, it seemed, not even Duster (or at the least, Boney couldn’t smell him.)  The dog walked through the doors of Thomas’ shop and made his way to the big basket of nut bread that was always next to the counter.  Carefully, he picked up a loaf in his mouth, trying not to slobber on it too much, and turned around and ran back out.

           In the morning when Lucas woke up, the nut bread was sitting on the nightstand.  _That wasn’t there before…_

           “Woof woof! (Eat it! I brought food for you!)”  Lucas startled for a moment at the sudden sound, and then relaxed at the familiar sight of his dog.  Boney nudged the nut bread with his nose.  “Woof! (I slobbered on it a little, sorry!)”

           Lucas sighed.  He felt another sting in his stomach, and a twinge of guilt that Boney had even felt the need to go to so much trouble.  In truth the house had a fair stock of food, or at least the ingredients with which to prepare a meal, but…

_Mom said she would teach me to cook when I was older._

           He reached for the bread and broke off a piece.  Under other circumstances it would have smelled delicious…he forced himself to take a bite.  It was difficult to make himself eat it but if he chewed and swallowed slowly, his stomach didn’t churn too much.

           Lucas managed to eat about a fourth of the loaf over the course of an hour, the nausea gradually diminishing.  Boney didn’t once leave his side.  _He’s trying to make sure I eat it?_

           When Lucas had eaten he stood up, carefully, and flung off his pajamas.  He made to reach for his filthy clothes but Boney nudged his hand away with a whine. 

           “What’s wrong?” he asked.  Boney stared at him— _somehow it always seems like he’s thinking really hard about something when he does that—_ and then caught him by complete surprise when he gently but firmly grabbed Lucas’ arm in his mouth and tugged insistently.

           “What…?”  Lucas was too weak to put up any real resistance as Boney dragged him out of the house, naked except for his boxers.  He attempted to walk along with the dog, sort of—just being dragged across the grass wasn’t particularly pleasant even as dirty as he already was.

           Lucas somewhat anticipated ending up in the river by the time they got there, but the cold water still shocked him.  At least Boney had jumped in with him, though the dog looked significantly happier to be there than Lucas was.

 _I must have smelled really awful,_ he thought, belatedly.  Boney splashed happily around, pawing at him and wagging his tail.  When Lucas didn’t respond, the dog barked insistently and quite deliberately splashed water at him.

           After a moment, Lucas smiled and splashed back at him.

~ * ~ *~

           The sun had dried Lucas off most of the way by the time he and Boney made their way back to the house.  The small bit of bread he’d eaten earlier made Lucas feel strong enough that he didn’t need to be dragged, though he still leaned on the dog for support.  Inside the house, he ignored his dirty clothes and moved over to the dresser for a fresh set.

           He discarded his boxers, pulled open his drawer and grabbed clean ones, along with a shirt and shorts.  The fresh, soft cloth felt nicer on his skin than he expected.  Closing his eyes for a moment, he breathed deeply.  His stomach had stopped hurting so much…it seemed to make Boney happy when he ate.  That was something, he supposed.  Maybe he’d try to eat more of the bread later.

           Lucas glanced at himself in the mirror.  His hair was certainly in better shape than it had been before, but it was still sticking up in all sorts of odd places so he made an effort at brushing it, although the best he could seem to do was work the tangles from it. 

            _It was always Mom who brushed it.  I don’t know how to make it look right._

           He had just replaced the brush on top of the dresser when he noticed something about his shirt.  Instead of his favorite yellow and red stripes, it had yellow and blue…

           For an instant, it felt as if it were Claus’ bright blue eyes staring back at him.

           Lucas slid against the dresser and slumped to the floor, his chest shaking.  He felt tears rising behind his eyes and grasped the shirt hard in his hands, drawing his knees up against his chest.  He wept quietly, without sobbing as he had the previous night.  Crying like this he couldn’t exhaust himself, just hope that it would stop on its own.  He tried to wall it in, to armor himself somehow, but it was no use.  Something always pierced it.

_I’m so pathetic.  No wonder everyone calls me a cry-baby all the time._

           “I’m sorry, Claus, I’m sorry…” he whispered.

_It should have been me, I’m so sorry, please come back Claus, I’m sorry…_

           Boney whined and sat down next to him, leaning against Lucas’ quavering frame.  Lucas let go of the shirt and clung to the dog instead, burying his face in the soft brown fur. 

           “Boney, don’t leave me,” he pleaded, so soft he could barely hear himself, holding the dog as if he would disappear right before his eyes if he didn’t hang on tightly enough.  Boney licked the top of Lucas’ head and whimpered, unable to do much but sit there for Lucas to hang on to.

           Lucas wasn’t sure how much time passed before he finally stopped crying.  His throat felt raw again and his eyes burned.  Shakily he stood up, bracing himself against the wall; at least now once he got to his feet he could stand without assistance.  Boney walked behind him and nudged him toward the door, first gently, then more insistently.  Lucas sighed and headed outside with the dog.  Seemed to make him happy enough, anyway.

           Boney rooted around in his doghouse and retrieved his favorite stick, then bounded over to Lucas with it in his mouth, wagging his tail. 

           “You want to play?  Well, okay…” Lucas said.  He took the stick from Boney’s mouth and gave it as good a throw as he could…in his weakened state it didn’t go too far, but the dog didn’t care.  Boney raced after it with just as much enthusiasm as always and within moments the stick was back at Lucas’ feet.  The second throw was a little better.  Each time, Boney retrieved the stick with an expression of such unbridled happiness that Lucas smiled in spite of himself. 

           “Woof woof! (Play, play with me!  I’m here!)”  Sometimes Boney wouldn’t let go of the stick right away and Lucas had to tug back and forth before getting the stick and throwing it again. 

           He made a sound he hadn’t made in a long time.

           He _laughed._     

~ * ~ * ~

            With Boney’s help (scavenging and stealing bread, fruit, nuts, whatever he could find) Lucas kept himself fed enough, but he still ate little.  He looked less pallid, and no longer shook when he walked, but anyone who looked at him would still have said he looked too thin, and much of the time he still had shadows under his eyes; he could never seem to keep a regular sleep schedule.  He no longer confined himself to the house at all times and would occasionally venture into town, but he avoided it when he could.  Seeing all the new buildings, hot paved streets and worst of all the pigmask troops everywhere was a painful reminder that running Fassad out of town for a few days hadn’t made any difference at all in the long run.  It had been so satisfying to see his drago friend toss the nasty man away and chase off the pigmasks and their huge tanks, to finally make a real difference by himself.  Or at least he thought he had.

            It proved a brief reprieve.  The pigmasks were back in greater numbers within a month, with Fassad leading them with his rhetoric of happiness and progress that the townsfolk eagerly ate up.  Most of them—he seemed to recall Alec and Nippolyte being uninterested—were only too keen to get a Happy Box into their homes, after hearing Fassad’s speeches. 

            _I tried to tell everyone that Fassad was an awful man, that he and the pigmasks were just trying to control everyone with those Happy Boxes, but no one would listen._

_I tried to tell everyone, they’re the ones who set the forest on fire, they’re the ones who messed up all the animals and made the…the thing that killed…_

_I’m useless.  I couldn’t do anything to stop it._

            He wasn’t as physically weak as he had been, but he would never be as strong as Claus, of that he was certain.  Nevertheless, he had taken to carrying a sturdy stick—Boney’s favorite, in fact—whenever he left the house. 

Lucas wandered into the main square, Boney close by his side.  If he didn’t speak, no one took much notice of him.  Or at least that’s what he wanted to believe.  He couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone was glaring at him as he passed by— _there goes that cry-baby Lucas, the stupid one who doesn’t want to be happy—_ but just tried to push the feeling down. 

            _I don’t like being here.  Everyone always tells me to smile._

_Maybe I’ll go up to the forest Sanctuary and the hot spring.  No one else goes up there anymore._

           It was a fair distance from his house, but Lucas always felt a bit better after a soak in the hot spring and a few minutes of prayer in the Sanctuary.  Something about the total stillness there quieted his mind.

As they headed up toward the square in the center of town Lucas noticed there were more people gathered there than usual.   Weaving through the crowd he saw…it looked like Wes was in an argument with Fassad…?  Lucas drew closer just in time to see a pigmask throw a sack over the protesting old man and drag him off.  Boney whined and looked up at him questioningly.  “(Are you going after him?)”

            He shook his head.  _What could I possibly do?_

            Lucas was about to turn and leave when Fassad caught his gaze and marched through the crowd, beady little eyes fixed upon him.  Boney immediately moved in front of Lucas, hackles raised and growling menacingly.  The fat man leaned close to him, scowling, and sneered “Lucas!  Quit snooping around me!  Don’t get in my way!”

            Lucas flinched away.  _I didn’t even say anything._

Fassad turned back to the crowd, grasping Lucas’ shoulder and turning him to face them—Lucas’ skin crawled— _don’t touch me don’t touch me don’t—_ and he tried to pull away, but the man’s grip was too strong.

            “Oh, Lucas,” he said condescendingly, “I really wish you would put a Happy Box in your home already, so you can be happy just like everyone else here.”  He gestured to the crowd with a theatrical flourish.  “I’m always hoping for that day.”  The crowd nodded and smiled in approval…all of their faces looked the same, now.  Lucas felt their gazes burning into him and squeezed his eyes shut, wrenching free and breaking into a run, tears leaking from his eyes. 

            _Why won’t everyone just leave me alone?_

He felt winded before he reached the train station.  He leaned on Boney for support as he struggled to catch his breath.  It wasn’t particularly busy at the moment; he supposed most everyone had already gone up to that factory he had heard about or somewhere even further away.

            The shiny red train pulled into the station with a whoosh of steam and Lucas noticed, among the strangers, Bronson and Jackie step onto the platform.  Boney gave a cheerful bark and bounded off toward them, so Lucas just followed behind him with a sigh of resignation.  He didn’t particularly want to go up there, but he wanted to be separated from Boney even less.  There were times he swore the dog knew better than he did what to do, even if he never understood the reason.

            _He probably does.  I never know what to do._

            The two men were already conversing when he caught up with Boney, so he just listened quietly.

            “C’mon, now, Jackie.  Get real.  It can’t possibly be him.”

            “But just think about it.  No one’s seen hide nor hair of Duster since he disappeared three years ago.  It’s gotta be him,” Jackie insisted.

           “C’mon now.  That’s nonsense!” Bronson replied.  It was then that he noticed Lucas.  He looked surprised to see him, which itself wasn’t a surprise given how little time Lucas spent in town.  “Oh.  Hey there, Lucas.” 

            Lucas didn’t reply, but Bronson seemed to see a question written on his face anyway. “Hmm? Oh, it’s nothing.  There’s this concert hall named Club Titiboo past the factory, and the bass player there looks kinda like Duster.  Jackie here is _convinced_ he’s Duster.”

           “But he looks JUST like him…!” Jackie protested.  “I really think we should tell old man Wes.”

           Bronson shook his head.  “Maybe if we knew for sure, but we’d only wind up disappointing Wes if it turns out we’re wrong.  The guy we saw just _happens_ to look a lot like Duster.  We don’t know any more than that.  Period.”  Jackie made to interrupt but Bronson carried on.  “Anyways, time to head home and have some chow while I watch the Happy Box.”  Lucas sighed.  _You too.  Everyone._ Neither Bronson nor Jackie took any notice.

           Jackie’s face lit up.  “You took the words right out of my mouth!  I’m starving, too!”

           Bronson turned to Lucas as he and Jackie stepped off the platform.  “Well, see ya, Lucas.  Tell Flint I say hi.” 

 _Don’t they know I don’t see him any more than they do?_ There was no point in telling them any of that, though.  He just nodded his head mutely and watched the train pull away and out of sight.

            The rumour about Duster genuinely surprised him, though.  Lucas knew that most of Tazmily had written Duster off as a nasty little thief who stole all the “wonderful money” that Fassad had brought when he first arrived, but he knew it wasn’t true.  Lucas remembered the long and confusing explanation he’d gotten from Wes and that strange pink-haired girl…Kumatora, was it?  He didn’t really understand a lot of it, but he did get that Duster had some important treasure with him, and that he definitely hadn’t stolen that stupid kid’s money like everyone said. 

            _He helped Dad kill that…that awful monster.  He can’t be a bad person._

Lucas stared into the tunnel, only the entrance appreciably lit before fading into impenetrable darkness.  He shuddered involuntarily.  _I’m scared.  I don’t want to go.  I don’t even know what’s out there._

            Boney glanced first at Lucas, then down the tunnel, wagging his tail.  “Woof woof! (We should go find him.)”  The dog jumped down from the platform and bounded to the tunnel entrance, cocking his head at Lucas as if beckoning him forward.

            _Then again…no one will notice if I’m gone._

He thought of that night three years ago when he’d been outside with Boney, crying his eyes out and unable to sleep no matter what he did, when Duster had come to see him.  The thief hadn’t said much of anything, but the hug he gave him spoke more than his words could have.  _He cared about me._

Lucas took a deep breath and strode forward into the tunnel.

**Author's Note:**

> actual file name: lucas.sad


End file.
